


hit me back.

by internationalbitchboy



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Squips (Be More Chill), Angst, Bullying, Crying, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Jeremy is just an asshole, M/M, Michael Mell Needs a Hug, Michael is an unreliable narrator, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Trans Michael Mell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internationalbitchboy/pseuds/internationalbitchboy
Summary: 'Lower your expectations' doesn't really work when your best friend of 12 years begins pushing you in the halls and calling you a loser, or starts hanging around with the people that torment you.
Relationships: Rich Goranski/Michael Mell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	hit me back.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know why I wrote this, I just have a lot of expensive headphones ideas and this is probably the easiest to do. I couldnt write for over two weeks because my laptop broke and I finally got it back and i just wanted to release built-up tension so PLEASE DONT EXPECT ANYTHING GOOD, its a basic bully-to-lover kind of plot that youve seen a thousand times over but with a twist towards the end, not much of a twist, michael just starts being a bit delusional,  
> This is kinda sad but mmmm rich goranski

In a completely hypothetical world, what would your first instinct be if the person you held closest to your heart took a turn and began distancing themselves from you? The person who, at some point, you'd proudly grin at and proclaim you would take a bullet for. Who you would stay up late at night with playing games. Who you would share your deepest thoughts with, each corner of your mind...who you'd seek comfort in. They just would up and leave, ignore your waves in the hallways or your random midnight messages. 

Let's take this hypothetical a small step ahead. What if said person would suddenly hang around the same people you branded 'enemies' together, walk right past and greet the same people who they would listen to you rant about. Instead of cursing them out as you bled, they stand and stare, they stand and walk among those same bastards. They'd peel off that target off their own back and stick it to you, and never speak a word about it. How would you approach a situation like that? How bright do the pleads in your eyes have to shine for them to finally step up, maybe use whatever accumulated social status they have to convince people to leave you alone. 

But to further this completely imaginary scenario, just what would you do when this same person, who for twelve years you would look up to, who you would give anything for, would suddenly push you to the ground in front of half of your pitiful high-school peers and watch along as everyone laughs? They would look down at you without a speck of remorse in whatever-the-fuck shade of blue their eyes are, and you would read along as their lips move, you'd memorize the words but won't let them register, not for a long while. 

Now to put an end to this scenario, I'll answer with what our very own Michael Mell did in this situation, because of course, this long 'what-if' isn't just random banters, it's a segue to get us into this mess of a day. It helps too, because our equation is distraction. Disconnection. Michael disconnects from his surroundings, distracts himself from the fact that his player two just called him a...

_'Clumsy loser who needs to watch where he's going, or better yet, not show up at all because he's unwanted.'_

If only to paraphrase, _his favowite person my ass_ , and as much as he tried not to comprehend, to ignore...to blank out and un-sync, the words dance dangerously around his mind, twirling with each other and mixing with years of buried self-hatred and constant _hypotheticals_. What-ifs and then-whats, constant what-woulds and never once did he let this specific nightmare of a situation play out in his mind. Maybe that's why denial is his best friend now. Those stages of grief? Bullshit. He thought he was nearing the whole 'acceptance' gig, trying to live with the fact that he'd be ignored by his best friend for probably the rest of high-school, but now he's at stage one again. Food for thought, maybe being punched was an acknowledgement in it's own sick and twisted way, maybe like this Jeremy would accept the fact that Michael exists. Is this a bad way to cope? Possibly. 

You want to know what another bad way to cope is? Crushing up your antidepressants and snorting them in the school bathrooms while crying your lungs out. Michael chokes out a laugh, not because anything is funny, he makes a sick joke about how ' _even razor-blades have more uses than me_ ', all of this self-deprecation and fluoxetine powder can't erase anything from his memory. The red dripping to the cheap ceramic flooring won't cover for the sting in his chest, and it probably won't do him any good if he was caught skipping class like this. He lets the chemicals rushing through his body take their effects, and scrapes the metal against his textbook to rid of whatever was left on it. He'd wash up, he'd leave and he'd get so high that everything would be a blur. Easier said than done, but at this point, he felt as if he could fly under anybody's radar. 

Word of advice, cold water sobers you up faster than you think, even if just snapping you out of whatever deep hole of constant self-deprecation you'd dug yourself in, and as much as he wants to thank the tap water for that, he realizes he has to be aware. This becomes a bigger issue when someone enters the bathroom...the sentence from before? Flying under anybody's radar? Yeah, scratch that. There's always an exception. 

Rich fucking Goranski. The five-foot whatever of just pure annoyance. Michael hates being alone, but Rich makes him wish that everyone ignores him, but for some reason, Rich is the only person that gives Michael the time of day. Let's not talk him up though, the least harmful thing Rich has done to Michael was telling him to off himself...on multiple occasions. Michael promised himself to never give Rich the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he's hurt by everything, but he cant handle that today, any other day... _just not today_.

"Look who it is." Step one, ignore him. "Hey, headphones." Step two, ignore him even harder. Michael tugs on his sleeves, covers whatever damage he laid out and stares into the germ-covered porcelain of the sink, focusing on each drip of the busted tap. "Hey, I'm talking to you, asshole!" Step three, ignore the first shove, or how loud the clang of metal is when Rich collides his palm with the bathroom door. A stupid attempt at gathering his attention, Michael looks for anything to help him disconnect. Everything feels like it's swelling, and he mentally curses himself when tears begin pooling around his eyes again. 

When Rich grabs at his arm to spin him around, Michael involuntarily hisses, tries to pull back;

_'We get it motherfucker, you're strong, you don't have to grab that hard.'_

Is what Michael would say if he didn't fear going home with a broken nose, yet in all honesty, the chances of him going home intact at all were looking grim. He hangs his head low for as long as he could, but of course when you're being forcefully pulled and pushed, your eyes just naturally look up, and the look on Rich Goranski's face when they finally lock eyes is priceless...Michael would've laughed, if he wasn't _still crying_. He seemed dumbfounded, lost, and Michael almost forgets to feel embarrassed. He's never let himself cry in front of these people, he would toughen up, _man up_. But even men can break at some points, he's just had a really...really bad day. He steadies his shaky breathing, just to brace for a punch, maybe getting his head shoved down the urinal, that'd be kind of funny, wouldn't it? 

But neither comes, Rich just gawks at Michael, his grip loosens up and Michael can let his nerves relax, his pain receptors constantly flashing warning signs from around him, yet the silence circling them was somehow more painful.

"Shit." Rich breaks the invisible barrier holding the tension, letting it wash over them, as if it was some twisted sense of relief. "I've never seen you cry...I never thought-" And he lets his words pause there, as if actually speaking the words he thought was a mistake, some sort of flaw. To this Michael scoffs, gross, and snotty and shaky and he lets a bitter smile creep on. What? Did Rich think all those words, threats, shoves didn't get to Michael? Does he think that Michael is that _detached_ where he _doesn't care_? 

"C-Can we reschedule this wh-whole thing for another day?" You're so funny Michael. His heaving and breathing makes it hard not to stutter, sobs breaking through his vowels and Michael mentally punches himself for it. "I've had a rough d..day and-" He crouches to grab his backpack. "And I'd be ha-happy to take a punch any other day, I just-" He won't explain himself, no need, especially not to Rich. He'd leave, hope his luck isn't _that fucking bad_ where he'd be caught skipping-

"Wait-" Rich frantically grabs him back, but he grabs at his arm _again_ , Michael's nociceptors have had enough of the incessant push and pull game, they send a wave of cold shock and Michael recoils back, agitated and tired.

"Fuck! Can you stop fucking-, fuck..." He nurses his arm, bringing it close to his chest, pushing himself closer to the wall, staring up at Rich like a frightened animal. Scratch that whole 'luck' thing completely, Rich won't leave him alone without adding onto his list of reasons to smoke until his lungs give out. Having to deal with Jeremy, and his own mind, and feeling as if everything is giving up on him...he has to deal with this five-foot four, rooster haired dickhead. "What do you want from me man?!" Mentally noting he needs to keep his voice down, but usually he's not this brave, and he's taking advantage of the prozac dissolving in his bloodstream. Even that didn't stop the tears scarring his cheeks with discoloration. 

"What I want?" Rich, for the first time in two years, seems speechless. The walking definition of 'never shuts up', standing in front of him, with this disgusting mixture of pity and confusion. 

"J-Just...fuck, just stop l-looking at me like that, sa..say what you want to and let me go." He hopes he doesn't look too desperate, too broken...too pitiful. 

"I-" Rich nears closer, but pauses his movements when Michael physically cringes away, flinching like a coward. He didn't want to, nor mean to, it's just that all of his neurons and nerves are tensed up, and they subconsciously move his body, it's his body distancing itself from his mind, yearning for the protection Michael just refused to give in on. "Wait, just." But alas, Rich is a persistent bastard, and he moves in front of Michael, facing him without a second thought to his posture.

In moments like this Michael can look into how much they conflict against each other. Michael has a habit to lean in on himself, slouched and idle, he hides behind layers of clothes, keeps his surroundings warm, seeks comfort in things staying the same. Rich stands assured and firm, even if he was short, he wouldn't let the exterior trick you, loud and boisterous, he wore his pride on his sleeve and made his presence known to everyone around him, as annoying as he could get, even the teachers were fond of him. And Michael envies him, because no matter how mean he was, he always has been so goddamn _likeable_ , no wonder Jeremy invites him over for Nintendo now. Michael doesn't change, he always remains the same because change is a scary concept, Rich maneuvers his way inside anyone's heart. And the only thing Michael hates more than himself is the fact that he can't find a way to hate Rich Goranski. With every bruise, with every insult, there's still an itch inside his mind and heart that just... _wishes they could be friends_.

"Headphones, look at me." So Michael does, partially because he can hear a slight lisp from beneath Rich's wording, was that always there? Is it just because of how close Rich is standing? Michael swore he memorized each habit, each little thing about how Rich carries himself. "I want you to hit me back."

Michael short-circuits, he's sure a question mark visibly perks up above his head, he didn't get that messed up to the point where he's hallucinating, did he? "W...What?" His voice was above a whisper, and Rich seems amused with just how discombobulated Michael looks. Has he not been clear with the fact that he isn't in the mood for jokes and pranks? Does he have a sign on his forehead that reads stupid? As much as it's a dumb fear, Michael fears death, and this can spiral into some wannabe deep euphemism, but alas, I'm a tired overworked teenager on the internet writing fanfiction, so maybe another day. Back to Rich.

"Hit me. Slap me, punch me." He speaks as if he wasn't telling the kid he torments everyday to physically assault him. He reaches for Michael's hand, gentler this time, and sizes it up so it's level with his face. "For every time I did it, hit me once, twice, as much as you wanna."

"Are you drunk?" That was supposed to be inside Michael's head, but he said it anyway, and in some weird way, he was happy he did, because for the first time ever, Rich directed that non-malicious smile at him. He would see it whenever Rich hung out with his friends, and just wished that maybe, one day, he could make Rich smile that way, but this is weird..

"No, well, I had a drink but-" Rich looks around, and Michael just wonders who gets drunk at 1 PM on a Wednesday. "I kinda wish I was right about now." This is really weird, Michael can't decipher if he wants to leave or not. 

"Well..." He trails off, his eyes wander, seconds after he realizes that he looked like a mess, and that tears involuntarily would escape every now and then, he's kept it all inside and it was pooling over...and it just so happened that Rich Goranski watched the ticking time bomb explode. "I-uh, I don't wanna, I mean, I don't want to hit you...back." His words and posture falter again, he doesn't want to look like a pining idiot, letting himself smile like a giddy school-girl at just the thought of making Rich laugh at a dumb joke, the same Rich who he convinces himself he hates. 

There's a look of disappointment circling around his light brown eyes, Michael has written notes upon notes on how to best describe them. Confusing shade of brown, almost almond, but there's sparkles of gold, and when it's spring they're more prominent, more yellow, the caramel looks like honey. There are circles of hickory on some days, and the almond drowns out on some bad days, especially when he's angry. But Michael likes them during fall, because they're a pale yellow-brown, and they look like biscuits, and the color matches the feather light freckles spattered across his nose and upper cheeks, they're hard to notice, but they stand out during winter. It's funny how much you can notice when you're being shoved against your locker. "Why not?" Michael snaps out of the yearning mess he graveled himself inside of. "Come on, headphones, hit me." The pitch in his voice grows irritated, the lisp from before wasn't there anymore, maybe Michael imagined it, he was feeling loopy, it's likely. 

"I don't want to hit you, wh-"

"Why?!" There's a sense of urgency to Rich, but notably he calms himself when the way his voice rises causes Michael's pupils to dilate slightly, visibly blanching away. "Sorry I just...I don't understand, man. You should be jumping at the chance to get me back, to let it all out, to show me how much you hate me and you jus-"

"I don't." Michael cuts him off, a newfound confidence he's never had.

"Huh?"

"I don't hate you, if that's what you think." Confidence my ass, he can't even look into the same eyes he could write paragraphs about. Afraid of the sudden stillness in the room, maybe Rich had heard someone from outside, a voice, movement, but it's quiet.

"You don't?" Michael can add up the presence of pity in his voice to the feeling of guilt, Rich probably feels guilty of the fact that the feeling of distaste and hatred wasn't reciprocated, I guess that would leave them at an awkward standpoint. "Why don't you?"

"I don't know." He's quick to answer, slow to elaborate. The filter keeping everything in check was being blurred and he doesn't really care much for decency, nor does he have much dignity to protect, not after letting himself be seen crying by the one person he swore he'd never let see him hit that low of a point. So what's there to hide? High school is a fever-dream, nothing matters, confess to your bully. "I do-don't wanna play some sort of...saint. It's not like I'm one of those people that say they don't hate anyone...I hate a lot of things, but no matter how much you hate me I ne-"

"I don't." Now it's Rich's turn to interrupt and to leave Michael dumbfounded. "I don't hate you, either." And Michael feels bad, because he almost laughs, almost, but the confusion dancing with his thoughts, entwining mind and heart, leaving him hollow and yet so filled was posing as a barricade. "That sounded like a joke, didn't it?"

This makes the tails of Michael's mouth twitch upwards, unleashing a small smile, subtle and pained. "Yeah...yeah it did."

"It wasn't." Rich smiles back, neither of them seem to come from a place of joy. "I never hated you."

Michael just looks pained. Call him weird, but this isn't what he needed right now. It's easier to ignore all of his feelings if he knew he was hated, it's easier to ignore all of the hits if he knew they came from a spot of bitter malice. His eyebrows knit together, frustration reads clear on his features. "Then why...why all of this." Voice starts off small, but progresses just as he raises his eyes to look up. "You beat me to the ground, call me worthless...Call me slurs, names, tell me to kill myself...All of that, and-" Finally he meets the guilt-ridden almond he thought he'd never grow tired of. "And now you're saying you don't hate me? What am I supposed to...what do I do with this information?" All of the pent up anger he's kept underneath, that he took out on himself...was tipping over, he shoves Rich back a bit, testing the waters. "Do I keep it in mind for the next time you shove my face in a urinal and call me a faggot? Do I tell myself...wait man, he doesn't hate you, he's just doing it for the hell of it!" Rich doesn't push back, he doesn't fight, or yell, he looks away instead.

"It's not for the hell of it-"

"Then just say you hate me!" Michael pleads, frenzied, light-headed.

"But I don't!" Rich argues back, as if his honesty was his last peg to stand on.

"You hate me-"

"I _envy_ you." This causes the room to bestill, and the silence to return, if only for a minute, everything around him seems weird, it was elongated and dizzy..

"You...what?" Michael decides to reel in more on this, before Rich decides this conversation isn't worth skipping class for, before he realizes that he _does_ hate him, before the hammering headache he has gets to him first.

"I...I am so fucking jealous of you.." Rich begrudgingly admits the words that lay heavy over his heart. This doesn't answer anything, but Michael doesn't want to speak, partially because Rich looks to be gathering up words to continue with. "I get so jealous, and then I get angry...and I take it out on you. I don't hate you, Michael, I hate myself."

This won't do, not today, not in this bathroom, not in this state of mind. "But y...you-" Michael grapples and struggles with his words, his eyes widened to a small point, enough to convey the shock of the situation. "You're _Rich Goranski_...people envy _you_. I envy _you_."

"Sure you do." Rich turns his head again, the specks of gold hanging around fade in the fire building in his eyes. "Michael I don't think you get just how jealous I am of you...How much I envy the fact that you don't feel the need to change yourself for people's approval, how you wear what you want, look how you want, how you don't need constant praise to survive, how you don't have to hide under made-up confidence to be so fucking beautiful.." And now he looks back again, his eyes soften, his voice wavers. "How you wear your pride on your sleeve-" He finds his wording funny, pointing lightly at the vibrant colored patch against Michael's shoulder sleeve- Hey, that's what Michael said about Rich isn't it?

"Rich you-" Michael falters against the cold tile from behind, swallowing his words when Rich continued his monologue.

"You're so fucking amazing. You never once changed, in all these three years of constant bullshit, even when Jeremy turned and began acting like a dick, you just walked down the halls, ignored everyone and-" Rich reaches out for Michael's arm again. "And you never changed. That's why...when I saw you just, fuck, when I saw you crying like that I-" There's that lisp again, peaking out, and Michael is sure he's not imagining it this time. "It was a reality check, the only reason I kept bugging you and punching you is because I was so desperate to get your attention, but...But I got so carried away and-" His wording is rushed, Michael feels the beat of his heart inside his chest. "I thought you never got bothered by anything, by the insults and..-" Finally he breaks away, pulls away as if he had been burned. "I never meant it to get this far."

Michael lets his head hit the tile wall from behind, chin pointing to the ceiling if only not to spill the build up inside his eyes. "You're...you're wrong." He starts off but forgets how to continue, a constant loop in his mind, he was never able to speak about what he feels, he thinks he's bottled up everything for so long and now he felt like one of his vintage fizzy sodas, ready to fucking explode, he can work with this. "You just...explained how you feel so easily and I-I have to stay here and...and fight internally because I can't express myself, is that something worth of envy?" There's tension around, he knows Rich is looking at him, but he's too much of a coward to look back. "I just want validation so bad..." What should've been a laugh, just looks to be an exhale with an upturn of his lips, mocks any real glee. "I just know it's never going to happen. That's why I'm so jealous of you, you're just so fucking...likeable. You'd be punching me and there I'd be thinking about how much I want to be around you-" Finally he lets his head hang low, the shameful smile peering on his features. "Sorry, that sounded so fucking weird." He allows himself to look into the brown, for just a moment. "I never change because change is scary, the world changes and I just can't change alongside it...and you just, you did." There's a dejection in his mannerisms. "Freshman year, you saw what people didn't like, and you changed it, but I was just glued into middle school."

"You remember me freshman year?" Rich sounds surprised, if not for the way his voice cracked, how his eyes widen again, Michael smiles...for real this time.

"Yeah, I still curse at myself for the fact that I can never just approach someone and talk to them...that was where I screwed myself over big time." Michael admits, to this Rich's wavering smile decides to stay. 

"Do you think you ever wanna change?"

"Yeah...but also no. Yes, and no...I don't know." Michael contradicts himself for a brief moment, trying to connect what change entails. "I want to change so many things about myself but, I know I would never. I wanna be...I wanna be a better person than last year." His admission is leaving him drowsy, he's never told anyone, but it's so easy right now...why? "I want to not need validation, I want to be open about who I am but-" He shakes the thought. "I don't think I wanna change at all."

"I don't think you should change, either." Rich leans against the sink, keeping his gaze on the red in front. "You don't have to change to become a better person." And Michael hates to admit that it made sense to him. Michael lets himself slump down to the floor, hugging his backpack close. 

"Maybe, but I don't know if who I am is enough to work with." The situation is beginning to weigh in. "Aren't you supposed to be kicking me by now?" Rich frowns. "Sorry-"

"Don't be sorry. I should be the one apologizing." Michael focuses in on how Rich's calloused fingers rush through dirty blonde strands. "But I know a dumb apology won't solve anything, would it." He doesn't ask, his words are obviously a claim. Michael feels confused.

"What now.." He forces himself to connect their visions again, brown boring into brown, both conflicting yet so similar to each other. "Do we go back to the same routine? We show up sober, you hang out with my ex best friend, I wallow in my misery, you trip me in the halls-" His humor is a bit dry, admittedly, he's not exclusively telling a joke.

"I think I want to change." Rich makes his statement, Michael can only peer up with bemusement. "Again." He capsizes down to his knees and now they're to eye-level. "Let's become better people...Together. I'll change, for you-" He reaches out once again, this time assured, Michael is scared, there's a dilation in Rich's eyes that he can't compare to cheap beer anymore, there's a distance in his voice and the hickory in his eyes isn't as prominent, the colors from around him are fading.

"I don't need you to change for me." Michael speaks from his chest, maybe he should've went to class today. "If you want to change, you should change for yourself, not for my validation."

"Isn't that why you want to change, as well? For people to validate you?" Rich looks demented, angry. "Michael, I've spent the past three years envying everything you stand for, this is my moment to prove to you...to prove that I just want you to want me." 

"Rich I-" And again, Michael has no words left, he's scared...shaken. Why is Rich acting strange? "I always have wanted you, I...I love you-" 

"Michael,"

Rich begins, his hand nearing Michael's face, and then...

Snap.

"Michael!" Everything is weird. Rich is standing above him, Jeremy is here too...and some professor he can't name is where Rich had just been...there's a lot of people circling him. His face is wet, stinging.

"Son, are you okay?"

"Wh-What...Where am I-" He panics, he's seated like before but the world is out of loop, his sleeves are rolled up, why are his sleeves rolled up? There's a twinge in his head and the headache from before returns, his mind is swelling. "Rich-..? Jeremy?" Was no one going to explain? Why were his hands uncontrollably shaking? His tongue is dry, his vision blurs in and out.

"You passed out man, you started talking about some shit and then...you fell." Rich speaks...his lisp isn't there anymore, he doesn't look as demented and weird as before...His voice carries the animosity it did in the halls, he sounded hurried and scared...He couldn't have imagined all of that, there's no way..

"We called a medical profe-"

"No I-" Michael scurries to get to his feet, winces as they fail, but he pushes away, he's scared, he's confused... "I need to go home-"

"Hey, calm down," He doesn't need Jeremy to tell him what to do.

"No! I'm fine I just, I-" There's a clear frenzy he displays, when he pushes the men away, when he refuses to look into anyone's eye. "Just let me go home!" He snaps, the sting in his cheek is beginning to irritate him.

"Mister Mell you're bleeding and-" His professor makes another attempt but Michael tries for the door instead, almost throwing a punch when someone grabs at his arm-

It's Rich, just like before. 

"I can give him a ride, sir." Rich speaks, Michael can't tell who he's talking to, he's enamored by his eyes, he's lightheaded again, his feet are giving in. There's muffled talk from around them, Michael can't tune in, he just wants to sleep. He follows the pattern of his feet when he's being carried out from the bathroom, to escape the longest twenty minutes of his life. He can feel his mouth move, but he doesn't know what he says, the world is dizzy, the lockers look dilated. He knows Jeremy helps getting him inside the passenger seat of his own Cruiser, he feels the added on presence from across.

"What happened.." His consciousness loops back in when it's just the two of them, he wants to talk to Rich...he wants to know.

"You began yelling at me and then you fainted." Rich is short with his wording...he's colder than before, this isn't the Rich he was talking to. 

"I...fainted?" Michael's voice is small, hoarse.

"Yeah." Rich nods, Michael can't look away, why does he look so mad...what did Michael do? "Probably all the shit you took." Was that a joke? How did Rich know what Michael did? "Oh come on, headphones. I looked through your bag, why'd you think Prozac was a good idea," Michael panics for a moment, the rush of adrenaline wakes him up further. "Don't worry. I didn't tell anybody, I told them it's because of blood-loss." That wasn't any better. "You gotta get that bandaged up, by the way." He doesn't respond, just hugs himself uncomfortably. "What were you dreaming about anyway?" 

Michael counts his blessings, lethargic and dazed, he's got a bit of bravery left in his chest. "You." Rich seems amused with his answer, his lips perk up.

"I thought so." This wouldn't do, Rich is being too short with his words, he's not explaining anything.

"Why aren't you crashing the car?" So Michael turns to the only way he knows to rile Rich up, maybe like this they'd get back to the same point, in the same bathroom.

"Why would I crash the car?" Rich on the other hand, seems apathetic, distant...Not necessarily angry, upset? Definitely. Did Michael say something while out of it?

"I don't know. I think causing me a broken arm and a few thousand dollars worth in damages would be a pretty funny way to mess with me." Rich didn't find it funny, but neither did Michael. 

"You do know that you didn't dream all of it right?" Michael perks up at this. This raises more questions, his breathing gets heavy.

"When did I faint?" Rich seems hesitant to answer, tapping his fingers on the skin of the wheel, Michael gets angry. "Why is no one fucking explaining anything to me..."

"Right after I said that-" There's an exchange of a glance, why is he being so tense? "After I said that I was jealous of you, you just-" There's a weird aura of panic around Rich. "You scared the shit out of me, man. Don't do that shit anymore, alright?"

"I'm sorry." Somehow, at the end of the day, Michael always ends up being the one apologizing.

"Don't be. I know that...Sometimes you wanna numb out a bad day but, Jeremy isn't worth all of that." A peak of enmity shines through with his words. "You need better coping mechanisms."

"I really don't need you to tell me this." But at this point, Michael is tired of being a push-over, he can't comprehend his emotions, but he knows he's mad. "It's not just Jeremy, don't put the whole thing on him, he left me because of you and your friends, you know." This shuts Rich up, the shake in his fingers returns, Michael isn't feeling well.

"I know." Michael decides he likes this side of Rich a lot. Vulnerable and open with his emotions, apologetic and honest. "Was dream me half as good looking?" And eternally arrogant.

"I might've fallen in love with dream you, in all honesty." Michael can carry out the joke, no biggie. He doesn't like when things get too serious either, and he likes the fact that both of them use humor to cope. Rich steals a glance, the way his smirk forms, it almost erases the light freckles on his cheeks.

"You think real me has a chance as well?" They both laugh. This is nice. Why can't it always be this nice? 

"I don't know, maybe." The smile finally sits at a steady flow. Resides for a bit. "But that'd be cliché wouldn't it? What would your friends think? Social suicide? All of that."

"I don't care about all of that right now. Maybe I like living in a perfected fiction world." Michael's house is in view. "I think hanging out with you would be more fun. You're honest with yourself, and right now, hanging out with you and playing video games is more appealing than another loud lousy party. I'm tired of...this social ladder. Building shit over gossip and if I'm tired of being scared that I'll lose everything just because I want to hang out with other people, or have certain interests." Michael bites his tongue, so Rich continues. "After seeing what Jeremy did...and seeing how fucking dejected you got because of it, and...in the bathroom, I just realized that...None of this shit matters-"

The car comes to a pause. "I want to make a change, a change that'll make me happy. I wanna be a better person" They look at each other for a bit. "And a week ago I wouldn't have been able to ask, I'd have suppressed it, taken it out in bad ways, but...I want you to be there with me." There's that loopy sense again, everything is weird again, Michael waits to wake up again, back in the school bathroom but...This time he thinks he feels dizzy because Rich's smile has never looked so pretty..

"I'd like that." He answers anyway. And maybe they'd return to school tomorrow, and everything will be the same, but for now everything seems...pretty okay.

"Cool." Rich breaks into that cheesy, real, non-malicious smile, and Michael feels his own rise against his will. "I can walk home-"

"Or you can come inside-" Michael pauses, panicked and a bit rushed, he didn't mean to come off so forward. "If you want that is, it's just that, my moms aren't home and I feel kinda weird and I'm kinda scared, and I don't know if I can wrap myself up and-"

"Chill out. I'd be happy to help." That was easier than he'd thought. "Let's go."

This really was cliché

Like a fanfiction, haha.


End file.
